A Little Night Music
by jane0904
Summary: Rick and a stream of late night consciousness. First Castle fanfic to test the waters ...


4.15 in the a.m., the latest Nickelback pumping away quietly in the background, deep in the heart of the city that doesn't sleep. Except some bits do, like my house. Occasionally.

Alex will be waking up soon, getting ready for another full day of being the only adult here. I wish she'd do something crazy once in a while. Okay, maybe not that crazy. Not getting arrested and thrown into the tank for twenty-four hours crazy. But maybe just let her hair down. A little. I want her to be able to have some things she can't tell her own kids. Not in the 'Dad, can you come and bail me out' way, just … actually, could be I do. I'd like to take care of _her_, just for once.

Mother probably won't surface for another six or seven hours. She had a big night, what with picking up Harris. Or Maurice. Or maybe … what the hell, it doesn't matter. They all sort of blur into one after a while. Sometimes I wonder if she keeps a little black book of her own, just to make sure she doesn't forget. After all, at her age …

Okay, that wasn't fair. For a Broadway dame she's pretty compos mentis. Especially since she's drunk this town dry more than once. I should never have allowed her to come live with us, I know that, not and keep my sanity, but Alex loves her.

I mean, so do I, but I have to. I'm her son. It kind of comes with the contract. Loving mother … loving son. God, no wonder I'm screwed.

In the nicest possible way, of course.

Only right now I'm screwed because the laptop has gone to sleep on me, and I haven't written one word in over a week. Half a book, and everything was going great, and my new character was shaping up nicely, then …bham, nothing.

Come to think of it, I haven't seen Kate in that time. No fresh corpses to liven up my day, or none that they needed my skill set with.

Hmmn.

Maybe I should call Kate. Just to chat. I know I shouldn't be smiling at the thought of waking her up, but I can see the look on her face if I did that. The adorable, sensual turn of her mouth, her hair slightly mussed, her eyes sleepy … and her police issue revolver in her hand. Have to say, that's pretty much of a turn on. Especially if she's wearing something skimpy.

Down, boy.

I'm gonna get to her. I mean, I already have, but in the nicer sense of the word. Right now she wants to shoot me and blame it on an accident, or someone else. Maybe Patterson, since the bastard owes me big and won't pay up. She'd think it was poetic justice. But I can see a glimmer of hope there. She might've nearly broken my nose, but I'm fairly sure she'd like to kiss it better after.

Maybe I need a coffee. Or more likely a decent night's sleep. But Gina keeps calling, asking when the new book will be ready, and I … I've been busy. That's it. I've been busy. Helping New York's finest solve amazingly twisted and perverse murders. And done it really well, if I do say so myself. Which I have to do, since Kate won't.

She really doesn't get me. I'm a nice guy. I don't kick dogs, I let my mother live with me, I have a teenage daughter who isn't being threatened with Child Services taking her away … well, maybe the once, but that wasn't my fault. The point being, I'm a regular Joe. I just kill people. On the page. In lurid detail. What's not to love in that?

And they do. All these pretty little things … sorry, women. Can't be accused of misogyny, not at this time of night. Young women, older women, and a few that should know better … they all love me. And I feel it's my duty to love them back.

Except that's been dry for a couple of months, too. Not from lack of nubile young ladies throwing themselves at me - after all, I'm Rick Castle, bestselling author, and pretty damn handsome to boot - but I just haven't been catching.

Maybe Kate's got to me.

No. Not at all. That would be …

Damn, the phone.

"Castle here."

"We've got a body."

I can't help the smile on my face. That's my Kate, no preamble, no small talk, not even asking if I was asleep.

"Juicy?"

"I think you'll like it."

"Where?"

"Central Park. West entrance."

There's a click and I'm on my own again. Okay. Better grab my things and get moving … not that I've been waiting for someone to die, of course. That would be ghoulish. But I'm not going to say no.

The sky's getting light, just a little. Soon be a new day, a new body to bond over, a new chance to pull her pigtails. Metaphorically speaking. And maybe the words will start to flow again, as soon as I get within playground pinching distance of my muse …


End file.
